You Say Second Chances, I Hear Happy Endings
by Prosperina
Summary: Nate Archibald left New York and everyone in it behind years ago. He doesn't miss it. So why does he still dream about it?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, plots and themes are property of the creators of the TV show _Gossip Girl_. They do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from the writing and posting of this story.

* * *

**YOU SAY SECOND CHANCES,  
I HEAR HAPPY ENDINGS**

**[one]  
**

* * *

It was remarkably easy to leave it all behind. Nathaniel Archibald is surprised sometimes, how it easy it was. He grew up in New York, with New York friends, in New York society. For the most part, he's left all that behind and he doesn't really miss it.

(Things he does miss... well, he's learnt by now that they were never really his to begin with.)

From inside the taxi, in standstill traffic, Nate can pretend it is just any other day. He can pretend that he is still in London, where he's been for years, staring out the window at the busy streets and the busy people and the busy rain that blurs his vision. He can make it all the way to the hotel pretending this (if he blurs his hearing too). He might even make into his room, but he knows he will not make it through the night.

At night, Nate will dream in technicolor. Always has. And so he resigns himself to the wondering of which moment in his past, seemingly so insignificant at the time (_perhaps the time he almost tripped over somebody's forgotten sketchbook as he jogged through the park?_) will haunt him tonight.

* * *

He finds Chuck in his old hotel room, chosen maybe for sentimental reasons, although Chuck will never admit it. He stands there in a navy tuxedo, bow tie undone, fiddling with his cufflinks.

"Nathaniel," Chuck drawls when he spies him. "I was beginning to think that you weren't going to show up for the wedding."

"Like I was going to miss this."

"You did the bachelor party."

"Your whole life until this day has been a bachelor party," Nate retorts. "Seriously, though, how are you feeling? Nervous?"

Chuck scoffs. "Showing signs of weakness? Of course not. I'm not giving Blair an excuse to back out of this."

This is absurd, of course, because when Nate sees two of his best friends dance together that night, they both look ridiculously happy. They try to hide it, because they seem happiest when nobody else knows, but he can tell.

"Scary, isn't it? It's like that scene in the movies where the two villains join forces," Serena whispers to him jokingly, before being whisked off by her second husband -- or maybe third, Nate isn't sure -- to the dance floor.

Nate sips his wine and lets his eyes drift across the room. There's a flash of a women there for a second -- blonde curls, lithe frame in a silk waterfall, red lips curling into a tiny smile -- before it's gone. She's gone. It could be a trick of the light. The way the couples move across the floor, so that he can barely glimpse what is on the other side, it might have been nothing at all.

Later, he tries to laugh it off, "You know, for a second I thought you'd invited Jenny Humphrey to your wedding."

"She _was_ here. She managed to climb back up the social ranks after all," Blair said archly. "I almost admire her determination."

"What do you mean?"

"Not so Little J figured out the only way you really get to the top: marry someone who is already there, and high society will consider you born again… in her case, as Jennifer Mayfair."

* * *

That night, Nate dreams of a scene from a Brooklyn loft. He's just inside the doorway, trying gets his arms into his jacket so that he can lock the door. He can hear Jenny calling him to hurry up, and he makes it just in time to see the elevator doors close with her on the other side. He runs down the stairs instead, trying to catch up, and when he gets to the bottom she asks him, "_what took you so long?_"

* * *

He spends the next week sub-consciously taking second looks at every willowy blonde he passes, wondering if it is her. While he's staring at one across the street, he doesn't notice the one standing by his side.

"Nate Archibald," she says. "Ten years and I don't even get a hello?"

She has one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised, that tiny smile on her lips again, and an unreadable expression in those blue, blue eyes. He gets lost in those eyes. Every time he blinks, his vision is blurred, and he sees a blonde girl with a hopeful smile.

"Jenny!" he says. He is blonde. He is smiling. "I was hoping I'd run into you."

"Did you, now." Her voice is even, giving no clues to what she thinks (of him).

"I thought about giving you a call, but…." he shrugs, letting the words trail off. Truth is, he finds her steady gaze and innocuous smile disconcerting. It's been a long time since he could read her (since he bothered to try) and he supposes he thought he would still be able to. Jenny was one of the people who knew him best, and despite any words misspoken and intentional distance between them, he always thought he knew her too. "I wasn't sure if you'd hang up on me," he finishes.

"And why would I do that?" She says, and this time he can see the humor in her eyes. Some things are to be ignored, left in the past, and he follows her lead -- this is one of them. "Come on, walk with me. You can help me pick out a card for Dan's birthday."

"Is that coming up?"

"Tomorrow. I'm throwing him a party. You should come, he'd love to see you."

Nate laughs lightly. "Well, I don't know if he'd _love_ to see me."

"Oh, come on. It's not like he's going to punch you for making moves on his baby sister."

He is dubious. "I suppose."

"Besides," Jenny gives him a sideways look. "I'm not a baby anymore."

He stares at her for a moment. For a second there, he thought he thought he saw something in her eyes, glimmering under lowered lashes. A challenge, maybe, or a question. An invitation. Words from a letter she never read. It's something he has no business imagining to be there, when it clearly cannot.

"No, Jennifer," he says slowly, testing the words. A moment passes and she doesn't correct him. "I guess you're not."

* * *

Nate is not standing near the entrance of St. Jude's, but he did twelve years ago, and a part of his subconscious is there again.

It's the last day of school, and he never wants to return to this place again, but he stands there anyway. He can see Jenny across the street, but he doesn't go to her. He's waiting for another girl who is going to break his strangely unbreakable heart, leave him behind for something or someone else (his friend, her friend, the promise of filming the people of another continent).

When Vanessa shows up, he spots her purple jeans from a block away, and when she starts to explain her reasons he already knows all the right expressions to give and things to say. He puts up a good fight. He's upset, but they've both already made up their minds. She leaves angrily, her bag swinging against her, and her parting words are, "_This is my dream, Nate. When are you going to figure out yours?_"

After Vanessa goes, Nate looks at Jenny again. She's not looking at him.

It was easy to leave her behind too. He is surprised, how easy it was. But then Jenny Humphrey and New York are more similar than he first thought. He left them behind. The other half of the story: they didn't ask him back.

* * *

**To be continued...**

Would love to hear any feedback on this. =)**  
**


	2. Chapter 2

See Part One for disclaimer.

* * *

**YOU SAY SECOND CHANCES,  
I HEAR HAPPY ENDINGS**

**[two]

* * *

**

Dan is amused to see him at the party, but friendly, and Nate is glad there are no grudges leftover. Nate chooses to arrive late, towards the end of the party, and while the number of guests must have dwindled, there are still a fair number of people there.

"You're probably one of the ten people I know here, tonight," Dan says in greeting. "It's true," he continues earnestly when Nate looks about the room. "They just all left already. And, man, am I kind of glad to see you. Unexpectedly. No offense."

"None taken." Nate has his hands upturned, palms facing up. He read somewhere that people are more likely to trust you. "I thought this was your party?"

"I think Jenny is taking the opportunity to audition to be host of _The Love Game_ - Dan Humphrey edition."

"Is it working?"

"No," Dan leans forward conspiratorially, "but it's fun to see Jen come up with who she thinks my ideal woman is. So far I've been introduced to the one dancing there, the one who just winked at us," at that, Dan lifts his glass in return, "and, also, as what must be a last ditch effort, the twins near the stairs."

Nate laughs, pretending not to notice that all the women so far are tall, with wavy blonde hair. "I really feel for your pain. And what exactly is wrong with everyone so far?"

Dan shrugs. "I don't know. Not my type, I guess?"

Nate is unconvinced. "Right."

"_Okay_, you pulled it out of me: I'm already seeing someone, but don't tell Jenny that. I don't think she'll approve."

"Not the right type of girl?"

"It's, well," Dan says, eyeing Nate warily, "it's Vanessa."

"Oh," Nate says. "That's… great. Uh, how is she, these days?"

"How is who these days?" Jenny says suddenly from beside him. Nate looks up and realizes the other guests have left while he and Dan were talking.

"Don't be nosy," Dan admonishes. "Haven't you humiliated me enough?"

"I thought you'd like Elizabeth and Jessica. They seemed to like _you_," Jenny smiles impishly.

"Yeah, the fact that you found the Sweet Valley High girls is a bit scary," Dan retorts.

"And the fact that you know about the Sweet Valley High girls, Dan? _Beyond_ scary."

Nate is about to add something to the conversation, for a second caught up in their sibling bickering, when Jenny turns to him. And he curses himself for not being fast enough, for breaking the spell that for a second brought one of things about New York he missed back. Because when she turns to him, that damn cool, even, tiny smile is back.

"Sorry about this," she says. "Dan brings out the worst in me. We -- or at least I -- am normally much more civilized."

Dan snorts. "Sadly, that is true."

Nate watches at Jenny shoots Dan a look, suggesting that this is a topic the two often disagree on.

"Dan," Jenny says suddenly, "Adam asked me to tell you that he's sorry he couldn't make it tonight. There was some sort of emergency at the firm in Boston, or maybe in Chicago," she shrugs, a dismissive wave of the hand to signal that she just doesn't care.

Nate has known Dan long enough to recognize the signs of a need to speak. Dan looks desperate to say something, maybe a crack such as "_I'm beginning to think my sister is married to Superman, except he doesn't save people_", but he holds back. There are topics that the Humphreys (he shouldn't still think of her as Humphrey, but he does) disagree on, and there are topics that are off-limits. When Dan says goodbye a few minutes later, leaving behind an awkward silence, Nate realizes that Jenny's high society marriage is one of them.

* * *

If this were twelve years ago, and if they were standing in the loft after a party, Nate would offer to help her clean up. It's not, though, and Jenny doesn't need his help, but he can't stop himself from trying.

He trails behind her as she steps into what looks like her husband's study. Every step he takes is two steps behinds, unsure if she wants him to follow. She doesn't give a little glance over the shoulder, eyelashes lowered. He's not given the opportunity to hold the gaze. She doesn't suddenly declare something to him, the truth maybe, or at least a truth, a secret she could never tell anybody else.

(This doesn't go anything like the twelve-year-old girl inside him seems to think it should go.)

There's not much finesse in his approach, little to none at all. He should have planned it better, but he's no Chuck Bass or Blair Waldorf. He is not a master puppeteer. Things come to him and he takes them as they are, even when he's been dealt a shitty hand in life. Nate has always played a half-hearted game with mediocre cards, but it's here, in another man's study, that he decides that he needs to bluff and gamble big to win.

Still, he should have planned it better.

"Are you happy?" The words tumble out of his mouth, stumbling over themselves on the way out.

The question doesn't seem to faze her.

"Of course I'm happy," she says, pouring herself a drink, making a wide gesture across the room, at the heavy drapes that frame the floor-length windows, at the chandelier sending brittle light fragments onto their skin, at the collection of books and whiskey that lines the wall. "I got everything I ever wanted, didn't I?"

"You don't look very happy."

"I guess you're the expert, Nate Archibald?" she says, arching on eyebrow, but he doesn't fall for the bait.

He quirks a smile. "You could say that." And then, gentler, "you can talk to me, Jenny. I know I never tried to hear what you were saying before, but I've… spent a lot of time alone. It's quiet. I learnt how to be a good listener."

She stares at him for a moment. A long moment. He has no idea what she's trying to find in him, but it makes him feel like he's being stripped bare. Her gaze on him feels hot as it rakes across his body, and then abruptly she turns away.

Jenny takes her glass with her to the window. Her back is to him, and he traces the curve of her neck with his eyes, takes in her bare feet as she shifts her weight back and forth. When she starts to speak, her voice is low.

"I'm a trophy wife. My husband is fucking 5 other women that I know of. Two I have lunch with regularly, two who works for me, and one I speak to every time I call for him at the office. I have the connections and the resources to produce my own clothing line now, but… I can't design any clothes. I haven't gone to see my dad in over three months, because every time I go to Brooklyn…. I don't like it there. Everything starts to feel wrong, and I'm reminded of how things used to be."

She stops here. He can see her making patterns, letters on the window with her finger.

_B E C_

"How did things used to be?" He prompts.

"Different," she whispers. "They were... different."

_A U S_

A bolt of lightning darts across the sky, and Jenny snatches her hand back from the window. A flash of light ricochets off her diamond ring and into his eyes. When he recovers, her back is ramrod straight, chin lifted proudly.

"I bet you're thinking, _didn't she learn her lesson back in high school_?" She says, her tone mocking. "You can say it. I know you want to say it."

Nate shakes his head, slowly. His steps towards her are padded by the soft carpet. "That not what I'm thinking at all."

Jenny whirls around, surprised by his sudden closeness. She wets her lips, not bothering to hide her startled expression. "What are you thinking?" She says, voice barely more than a breath.

"I'm thinking that I… really missed you. I didn't realize how much until now."

This close, Nate can smell the whiskey on her breath, and when the flow of air ebbs across his lips, he swears he can taste it too.

He stays still, waiting for her reaction. It's like a thousand emotions flitter in those blue, blue eyes of hers, from surprise to disappointment to wonder to hope. He waits for her to settle on one when she closes her eyes, lips pressed together tightly. Jenny leans into him, but they're not touching, and he waits until they do.

His fingers itch with the thought of her hair, gleaming in the dim light, knowing it will feel impossibly soft when it twines around his hands. Finally, she drops her head against his shoulder, her forehead resting on the smooth wool of his jacket, and she smells like one of those flowers he can't pronounce. But just before he can reach up and touch her, wrap his arms around and hold her, she steps away, taking countless backwards steps before she's halfway to the door.

"It's late, Nate," she whispers. "You should go."

Nate is left with the image of her leaving, and the scent of whiskey and unpronounceable flowers. Together, they smell like regret.

* * *

This is just a dream:

They're in the park, lying by the pool, on the kitchen bench in his hotel room, in her bed. She's sitting astride him, pressing up from beneath him, torturing him with her hands, her mouth, her tongue.

He knows this is a dream because his subconscious won't let him forget it. Between kisses, she whimpers and moans and say, "_we could've had this._" When he reaches for her, she giggles girlishly and dances out of reach.

Her hair trails down his body as she kisses his throat, swirls her tongue around his nipple, dips into his navel. Before she goes any lower, he grasps her by the shoulders, pulls her up.

"Wait," he says, breathing heavily, the tree leaves in the park shaking above them, the sheer curtains in her room billowing behind her. "Jenny," he says, "I think I'm in love with you."

She reaches up and traces the line of his cheek to his chin, gives him a soft smile. There are patterns on his cheek, left by the strokes her finger, but unlike the writings on the window, he can't see what they read.

"I love you," he says again.

When she replies, all he hears is static.

* * *

What happens next is still a dream, until Nate wakes up. Days after, he's sure he must have kept on sleeping.

There's a tentative knock on the door, but Nate doesn't hear it. He's too busy kissing Jenny Humphrey (he shouldn't call her that, still), losing himself in her smell and her touch and her taste.

He's trying to pinpoint everything about her, know her unconditionally and with certainty. She tastes like cinnamon, maybe, or peaches. A fruit with nectar or a tangy sweetness For some reason it keeps changing.

"You should get that," she breathes, stilling the movement of his hands with her own. "It's important."

He hears the urgency in her voice, so he reluctantly pulls away. "All right. Stay here, okay?"

Jenny laughs as if he's just told her a joke (_knock, knock_), one hand resting on his arm for balance. "It's easy," she says. "All you have to do is not let me go."

Nate's eyes snap open to find himself alone in his darkened hotel room, quiet except for the faint shuffles he can hear outside the door.

"Give me a second," he calls and sits up on the bed, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands give a long sigh. (The move is far too cliche, even if no one else can see him.)

It's the second night in a row that he dreamed about Jenny (with a focus on Jenny, not-so-little Jenny, and not her Brooklyn loft with the hasty elevator, or her sitting across the street, or the sketchbook she must have left behind). It's the second night that he dreamed about things that never happened, never knowing what will happen next. He's unused to this, the _not knowing_, but feels strangely alive. It's been a while since he's felt that, in life, in sleep, in dreams.

The person at the door knocks again, impatiently, at 12:51am in the morning, as the digital clock on the bedside table blinks at him sleepily. He flips the switch on the bedside lamp, using the dim glow to find his way to the door.

There's a woman on the other side. She wears the non-descript outfit of a white T-shirt and jeans, no make up except for half-bitten off lip gloss, and he instinctively knows that while standing there, she had been fiddling with the ends of her chin-length dark hair.

"Why are you still here?" She says in lieu of a greeting, pushing past him inside the room and taking a seat on the couch. "I thought you were only going to be here for the wedding."

Nate blinks in surprise, first because he barely recognized her, and then at her words. "Well, hello to you too," he says sarcastically, closing the door behind him. "I'm fine. A little sleep-deprived, but otherwise doing great. How about you?"

"Fine," she replies shortly. "Now answer my question. Please." The pleasantry is tacked on, an afterthought.

"Honestly? I should have been back in London last week, but I felt like I needed to stay."

She stares at him. "Is it… because of me?"

Her hair shifts with her movements, and he glimpses a piece of lighter hair gleaming underneath the dark brown. Nate imagines that she entered a busy bar somewhere, a respectable and upscale one, entered as a blonde and exited a brunette.

He reaches across the couch, across the space between them, and pulls the wig off. Her long curls tumble down, disheveled and slightly sweaty from being pressed against her head, transforming her back into an amalgam of the girl he used to know and the woman he's trying to understand.

"Is that what you came to ask me, Jenny?"

Because for all her bravado, he's not sure if she wants his answer. Not yet.

"Why did you leave?" she says instead. "The truth, Nate. You left so suddenly. I mean, it was that I expected a goodbye, but all of a sudden you were gone…" she says, flushing with embarrassment. He hates that he put that there, the way he left things. Even if they weren't together, he should have made amends.

"After college…" he drifts off for a second, then shrugs. "At the time, I didn't think there was a reason for me to stay. My dad was in jail. My mom moved to Paris. My only real friends were Chuck, Blair and Serena, and they all had their own lives. I couldn't stay just for them."

"I was your friend too," she says softly. "I wanted to be."

"I know. I just didn't know it then." And he does. When he let her, Jenny was possibly the best friend he ever had.

"I guess I thought it was easier," he continues. "My whole life, I've always taken the easy way out. It was, well," he gives a slight smile, "_easier_. It's funny, you know, I always fought my dad when he had all these plans for me, an expected path that was all set up for me to follow. At one stage, I must have wanted something else for myself, but after he went away there was no one to rebel against and… I guess I just forgot that I wanted something too. These past few weeks have made me remember that. I'm just figuring out what that something else is."

"What have you decided?"

"Well, for starters, I'm quitting my job." Nate makes a a face. "I hate finance. I'm going to travel for a bit. Do what I want. Pick up sailing again."

"Maybe grow your hair out," she suggests.

"Yeah, and not shave until it gets itchy," he grins.

"I think that would be good for you. You need to relax a bit."

He can't help but laugh at this. "Oh, _I_ need to relax."

Jenny narrows her eyes. "Are you calling me uptight?"

Nate raises his hands in defeat. "Me? No, never."

She rolls her eyes and smiles good-naturedly. "Yeah, I know I kind of get caught up in the Stepford Wives thing."

"Kind of? I was starting to wonder if you had a bad plastic surgeon because there was no expression in your face."

Jenny gasps in outrage and shoves at his shoulder. "That's a horrible thing to say, Nate Archibald!"

"Yes," he counters with an easy smile, "but it's okay, because we're friends now. With me, you can be whomever you want." He has one hand outstretched, palms facing up, and it feels almost like a lie because he's offering so much more than platonic friendship.

"Friends," she agrees, taking his hand.

And now because they're friends, he wants her to know.

"I'm here because of you," he says. "You're the reason I'm staying." Her fingers tightens almost imperceptibly around his, and then slackens in his grip but he doesn't let go.

(She did tell him it was that easy.)

They stay like that for a moment, hand in hand on the couch, before his hands are finally in her hair (feathery soft, silky), cradling her head, mouths moving desperately against each other in a rhythm of unspoken words. He pulls her flush against him, their legs in a tangle, until he's leaning comfortably against the armrest and she's leaning on him.

There are many words he should have said.

(They could be outside, in the park, under the cool shade of leafy trees, the grass beneath them a lush green and damp with dew. They could be next to the pool, the ridges of the copper and blue tiles stiff against their backs, the ground growing wetter as the water laps at their feet. They could be anywhere; he doesn't notice. He's too busy kissing Jenny Humphrey.)

The last thought of the night: his dreams were wrong. She tastes like honey, whiskey and second chances.

Against her lips, he smiles.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning:** There are scenes of a sexual nature in this chapter. Please only read if you are of age.

* * *

**YOU SAY SECOND CHANCES,  
I HEAR HAPPY ENDINGS**

**[three]**

**

* * *

**

Nate does not dream for three weeks. He doesn't miss it.

When awake, he sees life in technicolor.

* * *

It's edging towards five o' clock and the sun starts its slow decent. Nate is wearing a beige trench coat, the collar pulled high around his neck, dark sunglasses shading his eyes from the distant sun. He feel ridiculous and, frankly, a little embarrassed, but at the same time exhilarated.

The teenage boy beside the ticket booth looks mildly curious at his appearance, and understandably so: Nate looks like a flasher. In the midst of a busy carnival full of hundreds of people - many of them children doing a half-run-half-skip and licking their pink cotton candy, and many of them small enough to fit under his uncomfortably long coat. He's already counted five mothers pull their young children a little closer and give him contemptuous looks.

He wanted to raise his hands and say, _I'm not a pervert, honest! _But then he couldn't exactly follow up with, _I'm just trying to conduct an affair with a married woman who doesn't want to be seen in public with me_…

"Did you get the package?" Nate says, moving his lips as little as possible, staring straight ahead.

The boy's eyebrows furrow. "The ticket, you mean? Yeah, here it is," he produces the token with not even an attempt or nod at subterfuge. "Where's my 20 bucks?"

Nate rolls his eyes and turns to face the boy fully. _Kids, these days_, he thinks._ None of them had any subtlety. _

"Here," he says, pushing the bill into the boys direction, "take it. When's the ride start?"

"This one's going now. You just line up over there."

Nate looks over and spots Jenny at the front of the line, ready to step into the carriage.

She is similarly dressed in a trench coat, but a short black one that bares her shapely legs, slim calves and stiletto heels. Her hair is long, messy and bright red, and she has thick blue liner around her eyes, reminding him of that phase she had in high school. Her disguise is good - he doubts that with those legs and that hair, anybody would be looking closely at her face.

"I don't have a partner," he can hear her tell the ride attendant.

"Anybody else going up alone?"

"I am," Nate calls, handing the ticket the attendant and climbing into the small space next to Jenny. "Thanks."

Jenny barely looks at him as the ride starts. When their carriage finally reaches mid-air against the now-dark sky, he turns to her and sheds his coat in the same motion, leaving a black button-down shirt and jeans. "I feel like a flasher," he jokes. "But I'm surprised you didn't get arrested. No offence, but you look like a hooker."

"Oh, Officer," she says sultrily. "Do you need to search me?"

His gaze falls on the small gape in the front of her coat. Up this high, their only light is from the moon and the stars. He can barely make out the valley between her breasts and a hint of lace.

"Oh, yes," he says, mouth slightly dry. "I think I will have to do that."

"I'm don't have anything on me, Officer," she whispers, quickly abandoning the seducer for the ingenue caught up in a bad situation. "Honest."

Nate takes in her shallow breathing (evidence of fear, of excitement) and the small tears at the corner of her eyes. He's not sure if she's decided on a different character to play, or if this is a ploy of the same persona.

"I think we both know that's not true," he says lowly, fingering the lapel of her coat. "You're a bad girl, aren't you? Lying to the police. That's not very smart."

"I didn't mean to," she whimpers. "I'm sorry. I'm just scared, I don't know what to do."

"Don't be scared," he says soothingly. "I just need to search you. I'm just doing my job, do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good," he smiles quickly, "Now stand up and open your jacket, so I can see."

She slides the front open, keeping her arms close to the her body, ever so shy and in character.

"Wider," he instructs, his voice gravel-like as he stares at the vision in front of him. Underneath the trench coat, she has on a flimsy black bra, the sheer lace doing nothing to hide her rose-pink nipples that seem to pebble under his from his gaze. He can't help himself - he has to touch her along the tantalizing curve from her waist to her hips, where he finds more black lace. He slips a finger under the elastic, past the soft, blonde curls and dips into her heat, the wetness sucking him further inside.

A startled look comes across her face; she bites her lip and gasps, "Officer, what are you doing?"

"Shh," he murmurs, making sure that she's watching as he slowly licks her arousal off his finger. "Just relax."

By this time, their carriage has just passed the top and is slowly beginning it way back into view of the other carnival goers. He pauses for a split-second, then quickly tugs her panties down her legs.

Jenny tenses and drops the act immediately. Whatever she had imagined when she suggested this game, he knows it wasn't this.

"Nate!" She hisses, trying to bend down to retrieve her panties. "What if somebody sees?"

He stills her motions with a hand on hers. "Then they'll know you belong to me."

Far beneath them, there's the sounds of the loud and cheerful carnival music playing, and he can also the mechanical noises of the ferris wheel. What's the loudest, however, is the sound of Jenny's breathing, rapid and choppy as she stares at him, wide-eyed, still half-naked to his gaze.

Finally, when she drops her hand to the side, he smiles.

"Come sit on my lap," he orders softly. She turns around, and he guides her so that she is sitting astride him backwards, her ass is firmly against his dick, the length of him hard and straining against his zipper. Her legs are bent in a kneeling position, feet resting on each side of his body.

"Like this?" She asks with an experimental little wiggle, looking back at him innocently.

He groans, grips her hips to still the movement, and grits out, "You don't move unless I tell you, understand?"

She doesn't reply, but that could have something to do with his fingers which are suddenly inside her, one pressing up and then two, and Nate can hear her breath hitch with the sudden fullness.

"Do you like that?" He smirks, slowly the pace, dragging it out.

"I--_oh!_" she gasps when he hits a particularly sensitive spot, "Yes! More, fuck me _faster_, you son-of-a-bitch."

It surprised him at first -- Jenny Humphrey and her dirty little mouth.

"Touch yourself. Play with your breasts, and I'll reward you," he promises.

She doesn't need to be told twice, both hands cupping herself over the bra, then pushing the restrictive cups upwards until her breasts bounce free. When she arches back, moaning as she kneads and tweaks, soft whimpers with each pinch and squeeze, he has a sneaking suspicion that she's knows exactly the effect this is having on him. He's got a great view from over her shoulder, and he gets harder just thinking about whether she ever does this by herself, in private, and that this must be what she sees as well.

It's as if she can read his mind, because his gaze is locked on one delicate hand that makes its way down past her belly to join his, both quickly covered in her slickness.

"I said, faster, Nate," she says silkily, turning her head slightly so they're face-to-face. "Or do I have to finish it off myself?"

"Show me," he says, "show me how you would do it."

They both watch as she rubs herself, a few quick flicks to her clit, before resuming where he left off. There's no pretense to it, he can tell how much she wants to come from the fast pace and the jagged rhythm.

"Slow down, Jenny," he murmurs, guiding her and steadying her slippery rhythm.

The whole scene is getting him so hot, and he's fighting back the need to come in his pants like a ninth-grader as she slides back and forth across his dick, and every little whimper she makes nearly sends him over the edge. He's still fully-clothed with a practically naked Jenny Humphrey on his lap; they're sitting in a ferris wheel carriage while he fucks her with her own hand and she's chanting raggedly, "_oh God, oh God, oh God..._" until she's bucking up and she's _there_ and _oh God_ and there's a shriek which she muffles against her open palm.

When Jenny's shudders finally subside, she sags against him, chest heaving. He presses a kiss on the crook of her neck, warm and damn from sweat, and strokes the length of her arm, letting the sounds of her slowing breathing calm him down.

"Nate," she says after a while, still panting slightly, "we're still at the top."

And it's true: while they started their descent, their carriage never came into the view of the other people on the ground. Once it got anywhere near the bottom, the ferris wheel would start again the other way, keeping them near the apex (where nobody could see them).

"I bribed the guy," he says nonchalantly.

She makes a face. "I bet you think you're so smart, huh?"

"Yep," he says proudly. "I made you scream, didn't I?"

She mumbles something (it sounds like, "_debatable_") and slides over to the side, pulls the front of her coat closed.

"I didn't quite get that," he continues mercilessly. "Can you say it a bit louder? I know you can."

"Ha, ha," she says, but it doesn't come out quite as flat as probably wanted, especially when she moves to lie down with her head in his lap, stretching out languidly like a cat. "Whatever. Okay, you made me scream. I feel too good to argue with you right now."

He grins wolfishly at her. "You know, I kind of feel like I'm having lots of hot one night stands. The woman in the library? The woman in the supermarket? The woman at the carnival? And where do you get all these disguises?" Nate flicks the short and shiny coat that barely covers her. "They're all so… _sexy_."

Jenny sneaks a hand up his chest, playing with the buttons of his shirt. "I'm glad you think so. Maybe you should get something as well? Maybe dress up as surfer," she suggests playfully.

"Do you really want me to get long stringy hair and smell like sweat?" He deadpans. "Because I could just skip my next two showers."

"Maybe not," Jenny wrinkles her nose. "I was thinking that our next escapade could be in the cinema, though? One of those late night sessions… what do you think?"

Nate laughs out loud. "Going to the movies?" He teases. "I didn't think you did those things anymore, Jen. How pedestrian of you."

* * *

The VIP room at the Victrola is empty when Nate walks in, save for Chuck Bass and his personal cocktail waitress. The cocktail waitress looks remarkably like the various girls of Chuck's past — which means she is a skimpily dressed female — but Nate notices that unlike her predecessors, she keeps her distance. He imagines that Blair has trained _somebody_ well.

The Basses returned from their honeymoon unexpectedly early, which sent tongues wagging. The official story was that Blair had an emergency at her company that needed her attention, but Nate suspects they were bored on a tropical island where nobody else understood them or their games. They might as well have gone to Kansas.

"Nathaniel," Chuck says, raising his glass in greeting. "I was very surprised to hear that you've been… around."

Nate chuckles. "Let's skip the innuendo, okay?"

"Alright," Chuck agrees. "I'm far too tired for that, anyway. It's Amanda LeFleur, isn't it?"

"Who?"

"The girl who pays homage to her family name by always wearing a flower — even if not everyone can see it. I thought you might get a kick out of that."

"I think that's your m.o.," Nate retorts. "Save a headband, wear a flower?"

"Touché," Chuck smirks. "But I don't hear you denying it. But Amanda LaFleur, really? That's all it took you to come home?"

"Well, fascinating as she sounds, I've never heard of her. And what makes you think it's a person that's keeping me here?"

"Do you really expect me to believe this is some sort of sea change? After years of being away, you've decided that you miss home?"

"It's true. I just realized that I needed to rearrange my life."

Chuck wears his patented stare of narrow-eyed scrutiny. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this, so you might as well tell me now."

Nate shrugs lightly and takes a sip of whiskey, savoring it on his tongue. Over the past few weeks, he's developed a taste for it. "What if I told you that I just realized that I wasn't happy in London? And coming home made me figure that out?"

The words are chosen carefully and not entirely untrue, but Chuck is unconvinced.

"Fine," he says, "don't tell me."

* * *

One week later, Chuck calls him and says his private investigator has reported some strange sightings. Has Nate been seeing a hooker? Two? And has he been experimenting with pretty boys?

Nate just laughs.

Or was the pretty boy just Nate's reflection in the mirror?

Nate hangs up.

* * *

He meets Adam Mayfair by complete accident.

It's the middle of a weekday and Nate is in the midst of resigning from his job when he decides to take a break in the hotel cafe. There's an attractive waitress who introduces herself as Shelley, and who bends a little lower than necessary to set down his drink. Nate is the middle of thinking that this is a scenario he and Jenny have not acted out yet, when parts of a conversation from the next table waft over to him.

The name 'Adam Mayfair' is mentioned. Apparently, he is late to a business meeting.

Nate would be content to pretend that the man didn't exist, and it wasn't often that he thought about the man Jenny was married to. If he didn't think of him, he didn't feel the faint twinges of guilt, and he didn't need to go through the process of rationalizing the guilt away. In any case, from what he has gathered from Jenny and Dan, her marriage is not a happy one. He may have a vested interest, but Nate doesn't imagine it worth salvaging.

He can't deny that sometimes he is curious, though. Who did she choose? What is he like? He and Jenny never talk about the man she is married to. They discuss almost everything else, from Dan and Serena's neverending saga, to whether the method of cooking eggs for breakfast resulting in differing energy levels (her: maybe; him: no), to how Jenny should re-launch her career as a fashion designer (her: too difficult, too soon; him: yes, now). Two topics are avoided though, and her marriage is one of them. This is an unspoken rule.

Nate imagines that Adam Mayfair is an older man, someone who used to sweeping young and impressionable women off their feet with promises that he can't possible keep. A sweet-talker, someone who is late to meetings and dates and can get away with it. By the time she realizes who he is, Adam Mayfair is already picking out his next conquest, the next in his collection of beautiful things.

Unfortunately, the man who appears shortly after is not like this at all.

Nate sucks in a sharp breath, frozen to his seat.

_This is him_. This is Adam Mayfair, except he's not in his 40s, he is maybe in his early 30s. He's not balding, but has midnight black hair cut a little too long. He orders a coffee from the very interested Shelly the Waitress, but he doesn't wink at her while he does and nor does he ogle her legs or her ass as she walks away. When he speaks to his colleagues, they're glued to his every word because he is charismatic and intelligent and persuasive, and Nate forces himself to turn away and stop staring and stop listening before he's convinced that _this_ is the better man.

Adam Mayfair is not at all who Nate thought he would be.

But he's not the better man. Not from what Jenny has told him.

Nate stands abruptly, leaving a generous tip for Shelly's efforts, and strides back to the lobby.

Halfway there, he's stopped by a petite brunette who always knows a little too much for her own good.

"Archibald. I hear you've taken to seeing a couple of hookers," Blair declares with a flourish, not mindful of the many people milling around them.

Nate's only reaction is to splutter, "What—I—"

"With hearts of gold, of course," she smirks. "I'd expect nothing less from you." She's always loved to see him squirm.

"Is this a conversation I want to interrupt?" Says an amused voice that Nate is becoming increasingly familiar with.

"Adam!" Blair smiles in delight. "I didn't expect to run into you here."

"Oh, business to attend to," Adam shrugs with a smile that says, '_what can you do?_'. "Aren't you supposed to be on your honeymoon?"

"Oh, business to attend to," Blair mimics. "It's so hard to find a second-in-charge, these days," she sighs.

Nate coughs discreetly.

"Adam, have you met Nate Archibald? He's a good friend of mine from high school. Nate, this is Adam Mayfair."

"Good to meet you," Adam says affably, offering his hand.

Nate takes it, making sure that his side of the handshake is strong and confident, not overly stiff like his spine. "You, too," he says far more easily than he feels. (He can be a good liar, too, when it counts.)

"I'm surprised the two of you haven't crossed paths before," Blair continues. "Adam is one of the best and most-sought after financial advisors in New York. Nate is in the same field, but in London."

Of course Adam Mayfair would be very successful. "Bigger world than we thought, I guess," Nate says.

"And Adam is, of course, Jenny's husband as well."

"Oh, how do you know Jennifer?" Adam smiles expectantly.

Nate wants to scratch the back of his neck (it's a spot Jenny often pays special attention to, and he feels the itch of her fingerprints on his skin) but refrains. Instead, he shrugs again and chooses his words carefully. "We knew each other a long time ago. We were friends."

If Adam notices the hesitation in his answer, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he goes on to exchange pleasantries, saying something along the lines of how he will mention this to Jenny, and that he's sure she would love to catch up with an old friend.

Blair, however, is watching him shrewdly. It makes him nervous, because while Blair cannot possibly know everything in the world, but she often does. He wouldn't be surprised if she has her minions working on this puzzle for her, trailing him alongside Chuck's PI. (This is a scenario he will keep in mind, as well.)

Adam excuses himself soon after, and Blair agrees that her meeting needs to be attended to as well.

"I trust I will the both of you at tomorrow night's Charity Gala?"

"Ay, ay," Adam says with a mock-salute before returning to his table. "Jen wouldn't let me miss it."

"I'll see if I can make it," Nate offers. He's avoided these high society events thus far, and would prefer to continue doing so.

"Nate," she calls as he is leaving. "You have a history of doing stupid things. Try not to, okay?"

His eyebrows knit together. "I'm… I don't know what you mean."

Blair sighs. "I didn't think you would."

* * *

Once he starts, Nate can't stop thinking about it.

Does Jenny love Adam Mayfair? What is she like when she is around him? Are they a perfect society couple that continues the facade at home? When alone, are they nauseatingly sweet; does he chase her around the house in underwear and socks; is their housekeeper frequently and unsuspectingly invading their privacy when she tries to clean the bathroom/kitchen/lounge?

The questions plague him as he arrives at the Gala. It's almost an unspoken rule that he doesn't participate in that world anymore, that they're paths only cross when she is someone else, but he needs to know.

How did they meet? Did he pursue her, or did she pursue him? Did she only marry him because of the money; is that somebody Nate can believe she has become?

"Nathaniel," Chuck says to him when he approaches the bar. "I have heard some very interesting news."

"You know I'm not interested in gossip."

"News is never gossip. Especially when it is a scandal involving the some of the most influential people in the city."

Nate snorts. Blair has a big mouth. "Don't believe everything you hear."

"I guess I'll just have to watch for myself, won't I?"

"Watch what?" Serena cuts in, current husband in tow.

"Nothing," Nate says firmly. "Chuck is just being Chuck."

Serena is a good foil, and she chatters on while he surveys the room, and while Chuck surveys him. Nate tries to keep his emotions under wraps, but he's not sure of his success. When Jenny walks into the room, she's on Adam Mayfair's arm and they look like they have hired an airbrusher to work in between each freeze-frame for their flaws.

This is a Jenny that Nate has not been with before. They met briefly before, but even then he could see the girl lingering underneath. (He likes to think he brings that part out of her.) He's been with a dozen Jennys, fucked a dozen Jennys, made love with a dozen Jennys, but not Socialite Jenny. When she is Jennifer Mayfair, she is not with him.

He's mesmerized, the way she expresses emotions with a smile equally cool and refined and the subtle movements of her eyebrows. Her eyes don't wrinkle at the sides when she laughs. She sips at her champagne class delicately, as if she hadn't sucked his cock into her mouth twenty-four hours earlier. She looks at him as if they've never kissed aside from those times in high school, back he wasn't sure he wanted them, and when they cross paths on the outside balconies where nobody can hear them, she pretends politely that they are only old acquaintances.

It's a great act, but he's not at all worried. Of all the Jennys that he has known, this is the only one that isn't real.

But throughout the night, he can't help but feel nauseated at the sight of Jenny and Adam: making their rounds of the room like a perfect society couple; speaking quietly with a few other couples who appear to be friends; dancing, their bodies close, her head on his chest, him stroking her hair.

Without his usual close up view, she's a much better actor than he thought.

* * *

"What are you thinking about?" Jenny murmurs sleepily. She's lying on her stomach, the white sheet low on her hips, leaving the smooth curve of her back bare. It's his side of the bed, but he lets her stay. He's been watching her for the last fifteen minutes as she slips in and out of slumber, tired from the night.

She came to see him after the gala, with no make up and no explanations. He didn't hesitate to let her in.

"I'm thinking," he drawls, "that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She laughs a little into her pillow. "You're a good guy, Nate Archibald. But sometimes? You say all the right things at all the wrong times."

Nate laughs and pulls her toward him until their bodies are close, their legs entwined, her head on his chest. Her breasts are pressed against his belly and she's warm on his side. He strokes her hair.

These moments in private, tucked away from the rest of the world, where's she's just Jenny Humphrey, no disguises, are the times he loves best.

* * *

**To be continued  
**


End file.
